The Babet & Prosper Collection I: One Less Warlock, Magrat's Dagger, A Different Undead, and Bad Juju

by Judith Post

  Nadine passed her hand close by a third time. “Aaaah, your aura. Most witches don’t have a succubus for a father.”

  “What?” Babet turned to Hennie. Her mother rarely talked about her father, only said that she loved him, and he loved her, but they came from different worlds and could rarely spend time together. Babet had formed the impression that he was a vampire. She was obviously wrong.

  Hennie looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze.

  Nadine cocked a brow. “You and Evangeline are not so different. Do you have a familiar?”

  “No.” Babet couldn’t catch her balance. Her world was spinning out of control. “Familiars choose witches, not vice versa. Mine hasn’t shown up yet.”

  “It has now.” Nadine’s eyes narrowed as she studied the snake. “Our paths will cross again. Morgana trusts you, so I will too. She’s yours, sworn to protect and guide you.”

  In what? Voodoo? Succubi skills? A knot formed in Babet’s throat. “But….”

  “My daughter has mixed blood. You’ll have mixed gifts too. It’s not ours to decide. It’s decreed. Everything serves a purpose.” Nadine nodded to her daughter. “Return here after you take them to the city.”

  Hennie made an effort to leave Nadine on a happy note. “Thank you for seeing us. I’m sorry Emile couldn’t love his own daughter.”

  Nadine gave a careless shrug. “Emile was incapable of love. He knew lust, but that’s selfish. He was a selfish man.”

  When they climbed into Evangeline’s mini-van, Babet was happy to leave this place. Questions swirled in her head. She sat in the back seat and let Hennie sit in front, beside the young girl. Morgana coiled on the seat beside Babet, resting her head on her lap. As they pulled from the curb, Babet watched the women swarm from their porches to join Evangeline’s mother, and her hand moved to the snake’s smooth head, stroking it gently. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to have a voodoo protector as a companion.

  The drive home seemed endless. She leaned forward, intent on getting answers from Hennie, but the older witch held up her hand. “I’m not the one to ask. Your mother chose not to tell you. I won’t break her confidence.”

  Babet squirmed, impatient. Her mother wouldn’t be back for a few days, at least. Hennie’s shop was closer, so Evangeline dropped her off first. Then she pulled to the curb in front of River City’s city/county building. She turned when Babet opened the door to leave. “I know how you feel. If you need someone to talk to, call me.”

  Babet bit her bottom lip, trying to hold her emotions in check. “Thank you. I will.” She let Morgana coil around her arm before rushing into the station. People gave her curious looks as she stepped into Prosper’s office. He looked up when she entered, glanced at the snake, then studied her face. “Close the door behind you. Have a seat, then tell me everything.”

  It all spilled out. Not her usual style. When she’d finished her account of what happened, he nodded. “Not a good day. I’m sorry we brought you into this.”

  Babet tried to sort through her jumbled emotions. Was she sorry she’d learned the truth about her father? Not really. She’d rather know than not know. Did her mother ever plan on telling her? She highly doubted it.

  Prosper waited until she gave a careless smile. “See? You’re still you. And I’ve tasted some of your best kisses, and you didn’t drain one drop of me.”

  True. Her succubus genes hadn’t made her hungry to feed on the living. She squared her shoulders, rallied to match his tone. “Really? I thought you expended quite a bit of energy on my behalf.”

  He laughed. “If I remember right, it was mutual. And now I find myself in your debt again. You’ve helped us close this case. I’ve met Nadine. Emile should have left her and Evangeline alone. They didn’t seek him out. Nadine even warned him off.”

  Babet pushed herself to her feet. She felt a little shaky inside. She wasn’t sure how threatened she felt by voodoo, but it sure made her uneasy. So did having a succubus for a father. She didn’t know how powerful Evangeline was or would become, but then, she didn’t know her own powers either.

  Prosper stood and rounded the corner of his desk. “I owe you a favor. I always keep a debt of honor.”

  He was changing the subject, trying to lighten things up. Not a bad idea. She raised an eyebrow. “How big of a favor?”

  “I was thinking dinner, dancing, maybe more.”

  The man was almost as impressive in his human form as when he shifted. She’d seen him as a bear once—big and ferocious, with dark brown fur and chocolate brown eyes. Big claws, big teeth. She wouldn’t want to fight him. But as a detective….well, all that brain and brawn proved awfully fun in bed. He even made a pretty good dinner partner.

  “I get to choose the restaurant,” she said.

  His famous grin showed. “Make it expensive. Then you’ll feel more beholding to me.”

  “Beholding? I’m the one who helped you.”

  They bickered on their way out of the station. Bickering, for them, was foreplay. Babet licked her lips. They’d stop at Lillith’s on their way to her house. Then show Morgana her new home. They might even make it out to eat. They’d drink. Maybe even dance. Either way, she couldn’t wait till they reached dessert. She needed a distraction, and Prosper was just the man to provide one. With the bedroom door locked, so that no snake could enter, her final treat would come in a four-poster with the ceiling fan on. And it helped burn calories.

  Magrat’s Dagger

  The Second Babet and Prosper Novella

  A Lunch Hour Read

  by

  Judith Post

  To my daughter, Holly, for bugging me to write cozy mysteries again…

  With a paranormal twist

  Chapter 1

  Babet was stirring a roux when the wards buzzed for her house. Not a warning, more like a greeting. Morgana sinewed across the kitchen floor’s oak planks. The familiar’s head gave a happy bob. The boa looked forward to seeing whoever passed the black, wrought iron fence that separated Babet’s tiny front yard from the busy sidewalks of River City. Each cozy bungalow on this square bumped walls with its neighbors, making the back courtyards inaccessible from the street. Babet rejoiced in the added privacy.

  She turned off the heat under the Dutch oven. The roux was a deep, coffee color—she’d finish her gumbo later—then opened the front door before Prosper could knock. Morgana wrapped her thick coils around Prosper’s ankle and rode on his leg as he passed through the narrow foyer to Babet’s living room. He carried a narrow, wooden box in his hands, his expression fearsome.

  Usually, Babet’s heart gave a happy, little skip when she saw the Were detective, but not today. This visit was all business, no pleasure, she could tell.

  Prosper eased his tall, muscled form onto one of her leather sofas and carefully placed the box on the coffee table between them. Carved symbols covered its lid and sides. “I need your help.”

  “No hello?” Babet sat on the sofa across from him. She should have been turned off by his foul mood, but when Prosper bristled, he was a sight to behold. Damn, the bear Were was hot. No one would mistake him for a teddy, though he could be cuddly.

  He grimaced. “I’ve had one shit of a day. You heard about the fire?”

  “Should I have? I had clients all morning, then got in a domestic mood—started cooking.”

  His dark brow rose. “What kind of clients?”

  “The kind who buy potions, want me to read my crystal ball or set a spell for them.”

  “You’re not going to tell me any more than that?”

  “The kind who hire a witch,” she said.

  “Which tells me nothing.”

  Babet looked at the box. “Did you bring me a present or did you just come here to show me your stuff?”

  “You wish.” He smirked, his mood improving. A little sparring always did wonders for Prosper’s geniality. He frowned at the box. “This is all that’s left. Everything else burned.”

  Babet narrowed her
eyes, studying the intricate symbols. Leaning closer, she saw that each represented a spell. “Tell me more.”

  Prosper’s lips quirked at the corner. “Finally have your interest. Yaya Tallow’s house went up in flames with her in it. Everything’s lost except this. It was sitting in the ashes, unharmed.”

  “With all those protective spells, I’d be surprised if anything could harm it.”

  He gave her a meaningful glance. “I assumed Yaya Tallow’s house was warded against almost everything too.”

  It would be, Babet knew. Yaya’s wards would have warned her the minute the fire started. She’d have put it out with a wind or water spell. Something was off. “Was Yaya asleep?”

  “We called in our department’s witch, and she smelled a petrify spell.”

  Babet stared. “Someone froze Yaya in place and then set fire to her house?”

  “Made for a horrible corpse. Fire shrinks people, contorts them. And the scream and pain on her face were pretty grim.”

  “She wasn’t ashes?”

  “Someone made sure she was the last thing to burn, but Yaya wasn’t the only corpse we turned up. There was another witch buried in her back garden. Mortals wouldn’t find it, but I could smell it the minute I crossed her yard.”

  Babet ran her hands up and down her arms, rubbing away shivers. Gruesome images lurked behind her eyelids. “Not too many people would go up against her, only older witches.”

  “Reminds me of Emile.” Prosper saw the look on her face and shrugged. “A witch didn’t kill him. Maybe Yaya made the wrong kind of enemies too.”

  She shook her head. “Voodoo priestesses don’t use petrify spells.” Her gaze returned to the box. “And this didn’t burn.”

  “We think that’s what the killer was after. Someone spent a lot of time, brushing away ashes, to find that box. Why he didn’t take off with it is beyond us.”

  “He couldn’t.” Babet pointed to a symbol on the lid. “The box will only allow certain people to touch it.”

  “And Yaya was one of them?” Everyone knew that Yaya practiced dark magic. Prosper scooted the box farther away from him.

  “No, Yaya would have been banned. The box might have been in her house, but she couldn’t touch it, couldn’t open it. No black magic could get past the spells.”

  “So why did she have it?”

  Babet sat back, taking a moment to think. “Have you identified the second body, the one buried in the garden?”

  “Cassandra Lunstra, she owned a small tourist shop on Magic Avenue.”

  Babet nodded. She knew Cassandra. A sweet girl, not very powerful. She sold magic charms, Tarot cards, and crystals. Beginner’s stuff. “Do you know how she died?”

  “Someone blasted her. There was a hole in her chest.”

  Babet gave another nod. “I’d guess Yaya hired her to deliver the box.”

  “Then why kill her?”

  Babet sighed. “Do I look like an oracle? I don’t have all the answers. Maybe they had a falling-out.”

  Prosper leaned forward to study the long, wooden rectangle. “What do you think the thing holds?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Babet touched one symbol at a time, chanting a counterspell for each. As she said the chants, each symbol faded. The box was covered with them. It took a long time, but finally only four symbols remained, one at each corner.

  Prosper frowned at them. “Why won’t those go away?”

  “They were sealed with blood.”

  “You mean, like sacrifices?”

  “No, the witch who performed the spell used her own. It’s white magic.”

  Prosper pushed himself to his feet in one lithe motion. Weres were graceful and powerful. Babet loved watching him move. “Cassandra hadn’t been dead long, hadn’t decomposed. Her body was covered in cuts.”

  “Stupid girl, they must have tried using her blood to open the box. That’s why some symbols were more faded than others. But once she joined forces with Yaya, her magic was tainted. She’d be of no more use to Yaya.” She went to the kitchen, returned with a paring knife, and stabbed the thick pad of her thumb. Drops of blood beaded, and she wiped them over a symbol. It sparkled for a moment, then became a pale shadow of itself. She repeated the process on the other three with the same results.

  When every symbol was latent, Babet glanced at Prosper. He looked worried. “Should we open it?”

  Before he could answer, Morgana slithered onto the coffee table and flicked her tongue along the wood, scenting it. She coiled over the box and absorbed its energy, then bobbed her head, satisfied no evil magic was near. Not exactly foolproof, but a good sign.

  Prosper tensed. “Okay, do it.”

  Babet felt like Pandora. Would she release all sorts of sins into the world when she lifted the lid? But Morgana had approved the box’s contents. Babet repeated the words that rimmed the lid, and the box yawned open.

  Magic pulsed in the air.

  Prosper took a quick breath. He stepped closer to look inside. So did Babet. A mummified hand and wrist lay on black velvet, gripping a gleaming dagger. Gems were embedded in its handle. The blade looked sharper than anything she’d ever seen and more deadly. It was crisscrossed in symbols.

  Morgana slithered to the end of the coffee table. Prosper gripped Babet’s arm, a warning. “Don’t touch it until we know more.”

  Babet chewed on her bottom lip, trying to remember. “The ancient ones whisper a legend, something about a battle and a dagger. I’ve only heard bits and pieces. My mother might know. I’ll call her and Hennie.”

  Prosper hesitated. Usually, he jumped at the chance for more information. “Are you sure?”

  She raised an eyebrow in surprise. “What? You want this to be a secret?”

  “Someone wanted that box enough to kill Yaya. That same someone probably knows I found it and took it. It’s safe at the station. Hopefully. But whoever keeps the box is in danger. Maybe we should have your mom meet us there. Or meet me. I’ll let you know if I find out anything.”

  “Right. You can’t cut me out of the investigation after I helped you.” Babet rose and started toward her cell phone, lying on the kitchen counter.

  Prosper still hung back reluctantly. “How are you and your mother getting along?”

  The crux of his concern. Bless him, he’d listened to Babet’s rants when she found out her father was a succubus and her mother never informed her of the fact. She and Mom still hadn’t dealt with the issue. It was a touchy subject between them.

  “Will your mother come if you ask her about this?”

  “If she doesn’t, Hennie will. Hen’s like an aunt to me.” The white-haired witch was her mother’s closest friend and business partner. They shared the apartment above their shop.

  Babet punched her mother’s number and waited. Mom picked up on the third ring. “If you’re still mad at me….”

  “Not mad, but I’d like an explanation, some answers. That’s not why I’m calling, though.” Babet hurried to explain about Yaya, Cassandra, and the box.

  “And Prosper’s with you now?” her mother asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t want that box in your house. Wrap it in white silk, seal the fabric’s edges with the fat of a tallow candle, and meet Hennie and me on the river bank near Settlers’ Park.”

  “I don’t like it there. It has bad vibes. Can we meet someplace else?”

  “No. And hurry.”

  Chapter 2

  Prosper drove. The park was south of River City, halfway to the voodoo women’s community. Morgana curled on the backseat of the sedan. Babet rode shotgun with the box balanced on her lap. The road hugged the river banks, and she counted a half dozen alligators sunning on the shores as they went. On the far side of the road, birch and red maple loomed skyward, mixed with parsley hawthorns and dogwood. When they reached the park, Babet spotted her mother’s car in one of the lots. Prosper pulled in next to it.

  Mom and Hennie got out to meet them. Mom
glanced at the box and said, “Not here.” She started walking at a brisk pace. Morgana wrapped herself around Prosper’s shoulders, and the three of them hustled to keep up. They passed the beautiful flower beds at the park’s entrance, ignored the landscaped lawns, and left the picnic areas behind them. Mom stalked through the woods and doubled back toward the river. Babet knew where Mom was going—to a desolated area near the shore. Nothing grew on the bank there. No fish lingered for fishermen. Even snakes and alligators avoided it.

  When Mom reached its hardpacked dirt, she stopped, hands on hips.

  Out of breath, Babet joined her.

  “Show me the box.” Mom’s voice was raw and harsh.

  Babet undid the silk and opened the lid. Mom winced when she saw the hand. “Magrat died protecting River City. She knew she would. She cast a spell so no one could take the dagger from her fingers until it was needed again.”

  “Again?” Babet didn’t like the sound of that…whatever that was.

  Mom didn’t answer. She took the box, held it close, and walked through bedraggled brush toward a tall cypress that looked out of place in its dead surroundings. A rectangle of earth had recently been dug near it, the dirt tossed around the edges that plummeted six feet to a pine coffin. A desecrated grave. The wooden lid tipped at an angle, revealing an empty interior. No body or remains. Mom carefully pushed the loose soil aside, feeling for a small marker, and knelt to touch a finger to the weathered stone. “We’ve missed you, old friend.”

  Babet swallowed hard. What the hell was going on? Where were they? And who was buried here? Magrat? She’d never heard of her.

  “Why is the grave empty?” Babet asked.

  “We buried the box in the coffin,” Mom explained. She motioned toward her own arm and hand. “That’s all that was left of Magrat after the blast.”

  “What blast?” Babet tried to piece the information she’d heard together, but there were too many holes. She shook her head, confused. “Who’d defile a witch’s grave?”